Pain

It lives a life of its own.

The stored memories of her lurk in the stone cold machine that is now my mind. Her demon haunts me. My wife didn’t die easily. She tortured herself with private devils only her moans expressed and tried to set free. All I could do was listen.

Hospice said the dementia made fantasy and reality the same. Those insane last weeks she hung onto life infected me as well. Now, I can’t seem to let her and her demons go. My nightmare dreams are driven by her restless cries. “Jesus, the pain. Why have you left me alone? Where are you?”

“Daddy, make the pain go away.” She calls out in my daytime hours changing me to someone I did not know. I relive those last moments as our love became a lie. Those eyes looked but didn’t see me for the lover, best friend, and confidant I have always been. She calls out to this stranger she see's in me, tearing my soul apart, “Please Daddy, help me.”

They call this tortured existence grief. I’m not alone although her dying breath is still.

“I’m here,” I whisper. “I am here, can’t you feel me? I’m here holding onto your pain.”